This was also one of the highest-voted choices in my poll, so here it is. A multi-chap fic, all about DJ. I suppose you could call it a redo of DJ: Origins, since it's pretty much his life story.

Nonetheless, for the six people who voted for this, here's the first chapter of DJ: Life & Death. Normal time in normal font, anything else in italics, etc.

September 22, 1991

A lone car sped down the deserted road on the outskirts of Manchester, England, going slightly over the speed limit, but not really caring. The car, a vintage 1978 Holden explorer, was being driven by a large yellow lion, a former army sergeant and current chief of police in Manchester. This lion's name was Leslie Jazed, Lyle to his friends. Beside Lyle, his heavily pregnant wife of ten years, Mary, a grayish panther, sighed as she looked out her window.

"What's wrong, honey?" Lyle said, noticing her troubled expression.

"I don't know what we should call him." She answered, motioning to her ballooned belly.

"We could name him after me." Lyle remarked, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"What, 'Leslie?' I don't think so." Mary chuckled, knowing full well that her husband hated his birth name. Leslie Jazed responded with a snarl and diverted his attention ahead, where if he could squint he could just make out the outline of a logging truck parked on the side of the road.

"I still don't get why you want another one. Isn't Ezekiel enough for you?" Lyle said, referring to their oldest son, Ezekiel 'Zeke' Jazed. Zeke wasn't actually their son, for he had been adopted when Leslie was experiencing… Problems… In the sexual department. At the moment, Zeke was spending some time at a friend's place for the weekend, as he often did on weekends.

"No, I love Zeke, but I also want a son who-" Mary suddenly stopped mid sentence, and placed a hand on her belly. "I can feel him kicking!" She exclaimed excitedly. Amid protests from her husband, she grabbed his hand and placed it on her belly, and Lyle's protests faded into silence.

It was a truly beautiful moment. Lyle looked away from to road at his wife, and the two locked eyes in a way that only true lovers do. Mary's grip on Lyle's hand tightened, and Lyle leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

It was the last beautiful moment the two would ever have.

Mary glanced at the road in front of them, and her look of love quickly turned into one of horror. "Lyle, the truck!" She shouted, and Lyle snapped his attention forward in time to see the large logging truck looming above them, literally meters from impact.

Lyle indistinctly braked and twisted the wheel left… Inadvertedly putting Mary's side of the car in the danger zone. Mary's scream was drowned out by a clash of metal grinding against metal, and just as Lyle blacked out he saw that Mary's side had disappeared in an explosion of screeching metal and bloodied screams.

…

…

…

Lyle blinked his eyes several times as he regained consciousness. As his eyes adjusted he saw he was being dragged from what was left of his car, presumably by the driver of the logging truck. He felt the asphalt subside to soft grass, and the hands dragging him gently set him down.

"You okay?" A voice said, and it took Lyle a few seconds to register that it was the voice of the truckie speaking, a youngish looking tan bear dressed in stereotypical truckie overalls. The bear's nametag was too ruffled for Lyle to make out a name, but Lyle's concern at the moment wasn't the name of the truckie, it was about his wife.

"Is she … okay?" Lyle managed to spit out, and a look of confusion crossed the face of the truckie.

"Who? Is who okay?"

"My wife… She was in the front seat."

"Er… Wait here, I'll go check. Sit tight, man. An ambulance is on its way." And the truckie scurried off, leaving Lyle lying alone in the grass.

"Wait here? Yeah, right." Lyle muttered to himself, and pushed himself up into a sitting position, catching sight of the crash for the first time.

The car was absolutely fucking DESTROYED. The entire left side of the car, ripped away and was now in millions of pieces across the road. The right side, back end crushed, front end relatively okay. The engine, or what remained of it, was on fire, and as a coup de grace the radio was still going.

Lyle pushed himself to his feet, feeling the numbness in his right arm and the massive headache. Apart from that he was okay. Maybe a little light on his knees, but okay overall. He staggered forward a few steps, and began shouting.

"Mary! MARY?" He yelled, to almost no response.

"Over here, man!" The truckie shouted, from the other side of the truck. Lyle stumbled around the wreck that was once his car, and nearly fainted when he caught sight of Mary's body.

"Mary, it'll be okay, you'll be all right…" He said, kneeling down next to what was left of his wife. Though he could plainly see that she would not be all right. Mary's face was a bloody mess, one eye missing, the other nearly swollen shut due to the blood. Her right arm was almost snapped off, hanging gruesomely by a small patch of muscles. Both legs were covered in blood, her blue dress she was wearing that day ruined. Her ribcage seemed to cave in on itself, and by the angle of her neck and her non responsiveness when he touched her hand, Lyle guessed that her neck was broken.

As the sirens of the ambulance grew steadily louder, Mary started whispering. "Lyle."

"Save your strength, honey, you'll be okay…" Whether he was trying to reassure her or reassure himself, he wasn't sure.

"Lyle." She whispered again, just barely loud enough to be heard above the sirens. Lyle leant closer to his wife of ten years until his ear was right next to her mouth. Mary whispered something unintelligible, then her body slackened. She had lost consciousness.

"Mary. Oh, Mary no…" Leslie 'Lyle' Jazed put his head in his hands as paramedics took over, gently hoisting Mary's motionless body onto a gurney and wheeling it into the back of one of the ambulances. He was still muttering her name when they escorted him into another ambulance and he blacked out, her name still whispering on the edge of his lips.

...

….

….

"Are you Leslie Jazed?" A doctor at the hospital asked. Lyle, now with a arm cast and a bandage around his head, nodded ever so slightly.

"Is she okay?" He asked, his voice cracking due to his panic.

"Mr. Jazed, we did all we could, but your wife suffered tremendous internal and external injuries, and we were unable to revive her. She was declared dead five minutes ago." The doctor paused. "However, we were able to save your son."

"My… My son?"

"Yes. Frankly, I'm not sure how he survived, when by all medical factors he should be dead. Your wife's body was crushed between her seat and a logging truck. How your boy survived is a miracle. I'd take good care of him, Mr. Jazed. He's a special one. Nurse Gray?" The doctor turned and motioned for a nearby nurse, carrying a cot in the crook of her arm, to come over. Nurse Gray presented the doctor with the cot, and Lyle peered inside.

"Say hello to your son, Mr. Jazed."

Sound asleep in the cot, a small grey-white kitten dozed away, sucking on the tip of its tail. It was amazing how much he looked like his father, and at the same time how little he looked like him.

"Have you thought of a name for him?" Nurse Gray asked.

Lyle took a long time answering. After a minutes deliberation, he repeated his wife's words as she died in his arms.

"Desmond."

A somewhat normal day in Happy Tree Town was blossoming. Animals all around the town, at various times, were waking up to a brand new day. Ah, see that? Mole's already killed two Genetic Tree Friends (unwittingly) and thus the day was starting out to be quite a normal one.

Already up and running, Flippy waved good-naturedly to several of his neighbors as he jogged past them on his morning run. Nearly all those waved back, save for Handy who could only mumble and grumble at his nubs. Even Handy's negative outlook couldn't take the smile off of Flippy's face. It was such a lovely day. The sun was shining, the birds were tweeting, Splendid was watering his garden, either not hearing or plainly ignoring the cries for help, and altogether it was a day that made Flippy glad to be alive.

Of course, after dying once a week (average) and respawning at the local hospital, that took some of the charm out of it, but Flippy was still determined not to let that put a ruin on his day. Hell, even Evil had to agree that it was a lovely day, and this was coming from a psychopath.

All in all, it was a beautiful day. Was there anyone (apart from Handy) who could frown on a day like this?

Well, yeah.

Flippy slowed to a walk, partially because he was tired and partially because he was at the place he wanted to be at the moment. That particular place was outside a large mansion, right on the edge of the town boundaries. He wiped the sweat off his brow, and approached the front door of said mansion. Flippy ignored the camera focusing on him, and instead raised a hand to knock on the door.

Before he could, he paused at the sound of… Music.

Flippy turned his head in the direction of the music, which appeared to be coming from the forest on the right side of the mansion. And of course, everyone knows that the forest represents the boundaries of the town. Therefore, if you died in the forest, you'd die for real.

Flippy lowered his hand from the door, and slowly started in the direction of the voice. He paused right outside the forest, weighing in the options and potential outcomes. Finally, he shrugged and stepped into the forest.

The air surrounding him became instantly cooler, and Flippy became aware that his heart beat was rising. By now Flippy could hear the final lyrics to 30 Seconds to Mars's The Kill, and as he pushed several bushes out of the way he slowed to a halt, and crouched down in one of the remaining bushes as he observed what was going on.

A grayish white cat was sitting on the grassy ground, his legs dangling over a deep pit. The first thing you'd notice about this cat was his purple and black goggles perched above his eyes, keeping his fringe up. The second thing you'd notice about him was the fringe itself, which thanks in part to the goggles formed a messy Mohawk of sorts and had purple streaks dyed in it. The third thing? His satchel bag, often filled with books, novels, and his ever present notebook.

This cat, with his dark blue jean shorts and his purple and black sneakers, with his black fingerless gloves and his purple and black goggles, with a sarcastic nature and an untrustable manner, was simply known as DJ to both friends (of which there are few) and enemies (of which there are many). No-one called him Desmond, anymore. That was his past, which he was glad to hide.

DJ's back was to Flippy, so all Flippy could see was the outline of DJ raise a bottle of wine to his lips and take a long mouthful. Flippy then watched as DJ reached over and flicked his portable radio off.

"I know you're there." DJ spoke, his back still to Flippy.

Damn. Flippy begrudgingly got to his feet and pushed through the bushes. "How'd you know?"

"I could smell you. How long have you been running, Flippy? Thirty, Forty minutes?"

"More or less." Flippy approached the sitting DJ, who had not yet made a move, and sat down next to him, dangling his legs over the pit.

"Want some wine?" DJ offered the half-empty bottle of Wine to Flippy, who cautiously accepted it and took a swig.

"You do realize you're outside the boundaries? That if you die out here, you won't come back?" Flippy asked, remembering all those who left the 'cursed' town and was never heard from again.

"I know." DJ dryly answered in a depressed tone of voice. Flippy, however, failed to pick up the sadness in his friend's voice, and he took another swig of the wine.

"So what's the occasion?" Flippy cheerfully asked, indicating to the bottle of wine.

"It's my birthday." DJ said, his eyes looking into the pit. Flippy paused mid-swig, and lowered the bottle from his lips. "I don't know why I keep fooling myself into thinking that one of these days somebody's actually going to care." He remarked, still avoiding eye contact.

"... Um…"

"You can keep the wine." DJ stated, and got to his feet. He turned around and started walking back into HT Town, and Flippy quickly scrambled to his feet.

"DJ, wait up!" Flippy run after DJ, and grabbed him on the shoulder. "DJ-"

"Don't touch me." DJ snarled, and pushed Flippy's hand away. DJ left the bewildered Flippy in the forest, and re-entered HT Town.

September 22, 1995.

"Happy Birthday, bro." Desmond, now four years old, looked up at the large black Jaguar sitting next to him in curiosity.

"Here." Zeke said, smiling. "You better open it before dad gets back. You know how he is." Zeke wiggled a small wrapped box in front of him, and Desmond looked from the present to Zeke. "Go on." Zeke said encouragingly. Desmond cautiously took the wrapped gift in his tiny paws, and studied the bright blue wrapping paper on it. He then looked up at Zeke questioningly.

"Like this." Zeke said, and raised one paw. Desmond instinctively flinched, but Zeke wasn't aiming for him. With a simple flick of the wrist, Zeke had unsheathed his claws, and brought his index finger on the middle of the wrapped present. With careful precision, he tore open the paper, and the wrapping fell open, revealing a book.

"You'll love it. When you learn to read, of course." Zeke added offhandedly as Desmond studied the front cover of the book. "It's called 'The Shining'," Zeke continued. "And it's by this Stephen King person…"

Before Zeke could elaborate on 'this Stephen King person' the door to their room burst open, surprising Zeke and scaring Desmond. The huge, yellow lion known as Lyle Jazed staggered in, a bottle of wine in hand and his eyes heavily bloodshot. The sight of his father scared Desmond more than anything, and he instinctively curled against his brother.

"What's going on here?" He bellowed, the alcohol on his breath burning Zeke's nose. Zeke immediately put himself in front of his brother, but Lyle wasn't looking at neither Zeke nor Desmond. He was looking at the book, now lying on the floor. "What's this?" Lyle's view switched to Zeke, his eyes brimming with rage and hatred. "Are you giving him a present?" He shouted. Before Zeke could reply Lyle kicked the book away and shouted again. "HE DOESN'T DESERVE PRESENTS!"

"Dad, calm down, you're drunk-"

"HE KILLED MARY!" Lyle Jazed bellowed, and backhanded Zeke across the face. The force of the blow sent Zeke stumbling, and Lyle advanced on the terrified Desmond.

"And as for YOU," Lyle spat as Desmond shivered in fear. "Happy Birthday, you runt!" And amidst Zeke's cry of 'DAD, NO!' Lyle swung to wine bottle at Desmond's face.

DJ punched in the code that unlocked his door and stormed into his large extravagant mansion, slamming the door behind him. The light 'tap' of the door re-locking itself behind him sounded, and DJ slumped on the couch in the living room, head in his hands.

Some fucking birthday. Was it really too much to ask that he had a Birthday where he was actually happy?

A thump caught his attention. DJ looked at the shelf above the fireplace, and his eyes travelled down to the ground in front of it, where a book had fallen off the shelf and was resting face down on the carpet. DJ slowly got to his feet and walked over to the book. He gingerly picked up the dog-eared copy of Stephen King's The Shining and looked at it for what seemed like an eternity as memories he had tried deeply to suppress came flooding back. DJ fought back the memories, and he placed the book on its rightful position on the shelf with a sad sigh.

I'm a few days late, but whatever. DJ centric, whoo! I'm guessing not a lot of you will care for this particular story, but whatever (I seem to be saying that a lot) it's DJ's birthday, and I'm writing a story about him to cheer him up.

Review if you want to.

~ DJ.